


The Freedom to Make Mistakes

by Rikkichi



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Canach thinks he's the middle kid nobody likes, Gen, Self-Doubt, questioning free will, there's a bit of Canach/Commander in here as well but it's not the main focus of the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikkichi/pseuds/Rikkichi
Summary: "You give out Wyld Hunts to some of your children, but not all of them. You grant favors to many, but many more are left with nothing. Many of the Sylvari accept this as a part of their life, that some of them are meant to be Valiant, some are meant for greater purpose, and others are just meant to exist in mediocrity."It hurt, he realized. That was the truth he had been running away from all these years: that for all of his talk of 'not bowing to anyone', what hurt the most was that he had not even been given the chance to deny a higher calling in the first place. That fact, that excruciating truth, it somehow made him less of a person. Less of a Sylvari.A second-class, secondborn."Why," he asked finally, his voice shaking in a way it had never done before, "Why would you do something like that to someone you supposedly care about?"





	The Freedom to Make Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> And here's a short piece about Canach and his plethora of personal issues. 
> 
> This story is not connected to my other series involving Canach, by the way. You can definitely read it as a part of it, but it was written to be a solo piece.
> 
> Also I don't think I specified it in the story, but the Commander is a male Sylvari.

Canach liked to think that he wasn't a petty man. Sure, he did sink to some rather deep lows at times, lows that he would probably be paying off for several years to come in fact. But even his most heinous acts happened for a reason. Canach didn't do bad things just because he wanted to, there was always an explanation for everything he did. And in his mind, that meant that he wasn't being petty. 

He was absolutely, undeniably wrong of course; Canach was indeed a very petty person. It was just easier for him to take his punishments when he felt like there was a reasonable answer for his actions. Suddenly being jailed and subsequently 'rented out' to an annoying countess with too much money wasn't so bad, because it was just the natural conclusion of an understandable-yet-wrong choice on his part. 'Noble criminal', or some nonsense like that.

In addition to outright lying to himself, Canach also had an over-inflated opinion of himself. Which he justified by saying that he was the only one who would support himself, so of course he had to do it with gusto.

Of course, that wasn't really the truth anymore, was it? Somehow, despite his best efforts to stay cold and aloof to everyone ever, he had managed to acquire a handful of tagalongs. Nevermind that, technically, _he_ was the tagalong. Canach would never admit to following after someone else. If they happened to be in the same general area and fighting for the same general goal, then that was entirely coincidental. Or They were the ones following him. Canach definitely didn't pursue some sort of odd, half-friendship with them. Nope. That was entirely their doing.

(The Commander was, of course, a notable exception to this. But he was a notable exception to everything ever, so that was alright in Canach's mind.)

Still, all of the distraction of running around with a rag-tag bunch of friends- friends who weren't even a proper guild, now that Canach thought about it- was welcome. Because when he was gallivanting through a dangerous jungle with a bunch of idiots who were becoming slightly less idiotic as each day passed, he could forget about certain, harsh truths. It was a temporary respite, but he could forget that he had no actual choice in where he could go and what he could do. He could forget about that incessant buzzing in his head, the tempting voice that was technically gone now but still echoed through his darkest thoughts. He could forget about being a second-born, second-best, stuck in-between the two generations of 'Firstborn' and 'created with great purpose' as if he was some forgotten middle-child. He could forget that, like all Sylvari, his entire life was defined by his Mother's actions. Or rather, in his specific case, inactions.

But he couldn't ignore those rather painful truths forever. As soon as the dragon fell and what remained of their patchwork group of heroes returned to civilization, those truths were back at the forefront. And they were loud now, louder than ever.

He had spoken to the Commander about it once, very briefly. For all of his distaste of the Firstborn, he had actually managed to find one admirable trait about Trahearne. Many Sylvari had lasted against Mordremoth, but it had not come without a fight. Even Canach and the Commander himself had their moments of weakness in that damned jungle, moments where they had relied on each other to keep from turning. It had been an…'enlightening experience', to say the least, and it left Canach with the impression that there was much more to the Commander than he ever let anyone see. But Trahearne, he had faced the beast head-on without flinching, even in his final moments of life. That sheer strength, that determination…it made Canach wonder, if only for a moment, if Mother had been right in giving more power and praise to the Firstborn. 

One positive experience was not enough to change his entire worldview, but it was enough to form doubts in his mind. Had he been wrong in assuming that the Firstborn did not deserve the favor they so obviously had? Was he somehow inferior to them? Was that why he had been given no Wyld Hunt? Was that why he continuously made bad decision after bad decision (even if he felt those decisions were justified, they had still been ultimately wrong, and Canach would not deny that fact) that had resulted in his long-term loss of personal freedom? 

Was he a mistake?

They were dark thoughts, much worse than the ones he had experienced before Mordremoth's awakening. It was that damn dragon's fault, he decided. It sowed the seeds of doubt and destruction, and he was just another unfortunate victim of Mordremoth's mind games. Canach had always doubted the Pale Tree's wisdom, and a dragon of the mind would know exactly which buttons to push to make him feel insecure.

Still, it troubled him. Enough so that he let a tiny sliver of it slip out to the one person he completely and undeniably trusted.

"Then ask her," had been the Commander's exasperated reply. 

Canach didn't fault the Commander for his shortness- he was busy with some task related to Trahearne's broken sword, and he no doubt didn't have the time to deal with Canach's personal problems- but it was still not the answer he was looking for. "What, you expect me to go waltzing into the Grove and demand an audience with the Pale Tree?"

"She'll talk with you," the Commander answered, looking through his pack for the tenth time in as many minutes, "She does that for all of her children. Go home, seek an audience with Mother, and talk to her about it. Trust me, she listens."

Canach scoffed at that. "Only a few of her children have her ear at their beck and call. Most of us do not have the privilege of a conversation with her at our whim. She is busy, and the last I heard she was still healing."

The Commander finally closed his pack, and he stood up as he slung it over a shoulder. Then he turned his full attention to Canach. His eyes looked sad, as they had for months now, but Canach could tell that this wasn't the look of the usual burdens the Commander carried. This was a much more personal hurt, and a flash of guilt ran through Canach as he realized that he had only added to the Commander's worries. "This is something she would make time for. She may have many children, and she may be busy, but she would not let you suffer this alone if you sought out her help." He paused for a moment, and his free hand reached out, like he was going to cup Canach's cheek in a rather intimate gesture. But he thought better of it and pulled his hand back at the last moment, instead saying, "Just…go home and ask her."

\---

It was a ridiculous idea, one that Canach immediately dismissed. It wasn't like he could just go back to the Grove (which was NOT his home anymore, thank you very much) any time he wanted to. He had made 'certain transgressions' during the fight against Mordremoth, transgressions that had left Anise frustrated at Canach's tendency to go off the rails and ignore direct orders when it suited him. He was not likely to get permission to go to the Grove for a personal matter anytime soon, which was a perfect excuse to avoid the problem of 'talking to Mother' entirely.

So he forced those thoughts to the back of his mind and instead focused on his work, attempting to make up for the fact that he had already chosen his own personal wants over direct orders. The last thing he wanted was to drag the Commander into this mess he had with the Countess, and being a 'good little Sylvari' for the time being seemed like the best way to do that. Canach would always despise his past mistakes first and foremost, but the thought of bringing even more trouble to the Commander was a close second.

It would have gone well, if not for the fact that Trahearne's memorial was suddenly announced. The Sylvari didn't really have any traditions related to death and burial; most were just left to rot where they fell, or moved to a more convenient location if they died somewhere that was in the way. They were remembered in the Dream, sure, but Sylvari didn't exactly have graveyards or memorials or anything. Trahearne was to be an exception to that, apparently. Or perhaps the first in a new tradition of remembrance. Trahearne was always good at being the 'first' to do something.

( _"Oh, It's the second-class secondborn. I thought you were in jail, little brother. But apparently you're busy partaking in sloppy seconds instead, somehow I am not surprised."_ Canach would never, ever admit to it, but Faolain's words had wounded him more deeply than he had expected them to.)

Canach hadn't asked to go to the memorial. Even if he had developed a last-minute modicum of respect for Trahearne, he didn't want to participate in anything related to his remembrance. Given his distaste for the Firstborn in general, most Sylvari would probably mistake his attempts to speak well of Trahearne as backhanded insults. But Anise had given him a week off to go to the Grove and pay his respects- which wasn't so much of a 'week off' as it was an assignment to go there and 'get it out of his system before his repressed feelings got members of the Shining Blade killed'. Canach was extremely offended at the mere thought that he would let his personal feelings get in the way of his work, but mouthing off to Anise about that point had only earned him extra duties once he returned from his trip.

Canach strained his mind, trying to think of a way to justify his words and explain it away as something more than a petty argument, but even he couldn't find reason anymore.

Initially Canach planned to only go to the memorial, to see this damned statue once and be done with it. Then he could do whatever he liked for a week and return to Anise and claim that he had done as she had ordered. But those plans did not last past his first contact with the soft, green-blue lights of the Grove at twilight hours.

Canach had been to the Grove exactly twice in the last year, both times for business. And even then, those trips had been short and with a sense of urgency, which prevented him from taking in the full sights of the land of his birth. Now, with plenty of time and not much to do, Canach found himself reveling in the feeling of the Grove, that feeling of 'Home' that he had chased away for so long. Even if he vehemently insisted that this was no home to him, it was hard to deny this feeling of safety and belonging. Even a relative outcast like himself was still a Sylvari, and being in the city that had been his home in his formative years brought back so many memories. Mostly good ones, surprisingly enough. Canach had begun to doubt that there was anything 'good' about his past.

Without meaning to, he found himself meandering around the Grove, eventually ending up at the pod which took people up to the chambers where the Avatar of the tree rested. He didn't want to go there, no answer the Tree could give him could possibly quell those doubts and fears in his mind. Scowling, he turned to walk away, but stopped again mid-step. For a moment he stood there, his mind torn between 'I don't want to know' and 'but what if…'. 

Then, with an irritated noise, Canach finally turned back and climbed into the pod.

He was going to regret this, he knew it.

\---

The Avatar, despite her all-knowing nature, seemed genuinely surprised to see Canach in front of her. It irritated Canach, since the Pale Tree knew where all of her children were, so his presence shouldn't have come as a surprise. She should have known that he was coming long before he even set foot in that transport pod.

"My, this is an unexpected visit," the Avatar said warmly, "What brings you here, Canach?"

The scowl that had been on Canach's face ever since he had faced the transport pod was still there, and he crossed his arms in front of himself to show just how displeased he was with everything. Even if he was going to do this, he could still insist on being dragged into an answer kicking and screaming. "I need to speak to you. I need answers."

"Most who visit do," the Avatar said, and with a wave of her hand she dismissed her attendants. She was still weak, and her attendants were reluctant to go (they, like everyone else, had reason to distrust Canach), but the Avatar insisted that she would be fine for a few minutes and that they should relax for the time being. It was probably one of the rare moments where they even got to relax, and Canach was sure that they would be anything but calm.

With the attendants gone, the Avatar turned her attention back to Canach. "What troubles you?"

"Oh, pretty much everything," Canach said snidely, "The dragons, the humans, the asura, the norn. I have quite a long list, actually."

Somehow, Canach's petulant attitude managed to draw a chuckle from the Avatar. "I doubt you are here to speak with me about the norn, though."

Right to the point, it seemed. Canach could deal with that. "Why do you favor the Firstborn?"

That question drew a confused look from the Avatar. "What do you mean? I do love the Firstborn, of course, but I love all Sylvari. Some have rather arduous tasks to complete, and some do spend a lot of time with me, but all of that is a matter of circumstance. I love all of my children equally."

"But the Firstborn are always treated differently," Canach insisted, "You give out favors to them as if they are nothing of consequence. You give them great tasks, Wyld Hunts that half the Sylvari here could only dream of being called for. Whenever something goes wrong, it's always the Firstborn you call on. Why?"

"My child, that is not 'favor'," the Avatar said calmly, though with a touch of confusion still present, "They merely have the most experience out of all of you. They are the oldest, the wisest. They are leaders, each and every one of them, and that experience is what I draw on in times of need. But I do not limit myself to just the Firstborn in that regard. Surely you have noticed how much I call upon your younger brother?"

Even without his name spoken, Canach instantly knew who the Avatar was talking about. "That's different," he said sourly, "The Commander earned that respect. The Firstborn get it merely by being born first."

"The Firstborn have done their duties to me as well. But I get the feeling that this isn't just about the Firstborn," the Avatar said. She fixed her gaze on Canach, a gaze that made him feel slightly uncomfortable, which effectively cut through the anger that had been rising within him. Somehow the Pale Tree always knew how to diffuse a potential altercation. "What are you really here to ask?"

Canach wanted to lie. He wanted to make up something else, anything else. The truth was…it was shameful, he realized suddenly. He was so angry, so put out by everything that had happened to him, and he was ashamed of the feelings that rose from it. Canach suspected that his cheeks would have been burning brightly right then, if not for how dark his skin was. 

But no lie came to him, and instead he was left with the uncomfortable truth. A truth he could only utter because nobody else but the Avatar would hear him, and he was sure that she already knew what he was going to say. Making him say it was probably just some part of her grand plan to make him understand some stupid truth about everything.

"You give out Wyld Hunts to some of your children, but not all of them. You grant favors to many, but many more are left with nothing. Many of the Sylvari accept this as a part of their life, that some of them are meant to be Valiant, some are meant for greater purpose, and others are just meant to exist in mediocrity. A backdrop for the heroes to live among, always present but never exceling at anything on their own. And you have the gall to demand that they be happy about their pointless existence too!" His voice had started out evenly, but as he continued to speak and pour out more of his heart to the one who had created him he found his voice gradually losing that control he had over himself normally. And as he talked, he stopped caring about appearances. 

It hurt, he realized. That was the truth he had been running away from all these years: that for all of his talk of 'not bowing to anyone', what hurt the most was that he had not even been given the chance to deny a higher calling in the first place. That fact, that excruciating truth, it somehow made him less of a person. Less of a Sylvari.

A second-class, secondborn.

"Why," he asked finally, his voice shaking in a way it had never done before, "Why would you do something like that to someone you supposedly care about?"

The Avatar was quiet for a long time after that, longer than Canach would have liked. The silence was absolutely deafening, and it made him think that he had overstepped some boundary and that the Avatar's attendants were on their way to kick him out of the Avatar's chamber. But nobody came, it was still just him and the Avatar, standing there in that uncomfortable silence.

After a long time, the Avatar held up a hand to Canach, palm up in a gesture that was clearly meant for Canach to take her hand. But he refused, keeping his arms crossed in front of him, and actually digging his fingers more deeply into the padding that protected his forearms. At some point his defiant stance had changed into more of a self-hug, something that may have passed as a gesture to comfort himself if not for the fact that Canach didn't feel comforted at all by it. Once again shame ran through his body, and this time he did feel his cheeks burn.

Eventually the Avatar seemed to realize that Canach wouldn't take her hand, so she let it fall to her side. Instead, she said, "Canach, is that what you truly think? That I gave you no purpose in life?"

Canach couldn't find the words to express his sheer frustration over the fact that the Avatar was even asking that, so he just gave her a short nod.

A sad frown appeared on the Avatar's face. "You are right: I gave you no purpose. You are not meant to cleanse Orr, or save the people, or defeat the elder dragons. I did not divine that you would protect a dragon's egg, or that you would lead an army, or even help save a swamp from corruption. You are not a Valiant, Canach. You were not born with a higher calling."

For a moment, Canach felt a tight pain in his chest, a pain that he imagined was his heart being ripped in two. This was exactly why he didn't want to do this: he didn't want his worries to be confirmed. He had always thought that he had no purpose, that his existence was pointless, but to have it actually confirmed…that was too much. He could hold himself together on the outside, he was strong, but inside he was crumbling.

But still, the Avatar continued. "But that does not mean that your life is pointless. The truth is far from that. It is not that you have no purpose, my dear. It is that your purpose was not given to you by me."

That was actually enough to stop Canach's downward spiral of self-hate and loathing, and he looked up at the Avatar. He actually Looked at her, trying to see just what she meant.

"The Firstborn all had a purpose for me," the Avatar said, "Help me grow, seek out safety, keep our enemies away, things like that. Many of the Secondborn are the same. I am still quite young, as far as Pale Trees go, and I cannot do many of these tasks myself. So I needed help, and I enlisted my children in giving me that help.

"But my Valiants, barring those who became Soundless or who joined the Nightmare Court, they all act unquestioningly. They do not ask 'why', they simply 'do.' Very few of my children who have remained with me ever wonder about what their actions mean, or if they are actually justified in what they do. Your Commander is one of them," she added, smiling slightly, "Though I suspect you already knew that he was special."

And then the smile was gone, just as abruptly as it had shown up. "But a handful of exceptions do not change the rule, and that rule is that the Valiants always act for me. I do not want mindless servants. That is why I rebelled against Mordremoth: there is a beauty in freedom, and I want all of my children to be free. But my children, bless their hearts, most of them do not understand this. They want only to serve me, to make me happy. It is something to do with our connection through the Dream, I suspect. As much as I tried to change things, to make it so none of you would ever be Mordrem, it appears as though things did not go as I wanted them to."

The Avatar paused for a moment, long enough to give Canach a real, full smile. "Freedom, Canach. That was my gift to you. I did not give you a purpose, but that was so you could choose the purpose yourself. You were the first, so that you could be an example to everyone else: happiness doesn't come from servitude, but rather from choice."

Canach couldn't hold in a bark of laughter. This was all too much. His gift was freedom? He was in control of his whole life? "And what a fine example I have set," he said bitterly, "Two decades of mayhem, followed by being chained to another. A lifetime of mistake after mistake that has cumulated in an unruly man who clearly has no understanding of the world. Such a wonderful use of freedom, don't you think?"

"It is," the Avatar said, "Because those mistakes are _your_ mistakes. That is the beauty of true freedom: it includes the freedom to make mistakes, as well as the freedom to redeem yourself for those mistakes. It means that you were not born to be 'good' or 'bad', but that you became such through your choices. And what better example is there of the wonders of freedom than a man who made mistakes, but made the conscious choice to better himself, to do right by the people he had wronged? What better way is there for your younger brothers and sisters to learn about the complexities of 'right' and 'wrong' than by the example someone who did both?"

Canach hated to admit it, but those words were soothing. The Avatar had torn him down from his lofty position, and then she had built him right back up, all in the span of a few minutes. It was almost unbelievable, but looking back on things it did make sense. It explained so much of his life, though he would have liked to have this explanation much sooner, preferably before he had made a fool of himself. But this was…reassuring. 

His purpose in life was to choose, and in turn show others what it meant to choose. 

He could live with that, he decided. 

\---

Many hours later, as the night stretched on and dawn hung low on the horizon, Canach remained awake. He had found a perch in one of the higher branches of the Pale Tree, not quite at the canopy but high enough up that he could see the sunrise when it crested over the forest. He wasn't usually one to partake in such frivolous acts, but it felt like a proper way to welcome his changed perspective on his life.

"Early to rise, I see."

Canach glanced over just as the Commander dropped down onto the branch next to him. He noticed the presence of a new greatsword on the Commander's back. It resembled Caladbolg, Trahearne's sword, but it looked a bit different. Was this the result of the Commander's quest to find all of those missing pieces? "You've been busy," he said idly, his eyes still on the sword.

The Commander glanced over his own shoulder, and after a moment he chuckled and looked back to Canach. "Indeed. But no arduous task is without a reward, it seems."

"And here I thought you would be hesitant to take up Trahearne's mantle," Canach chided.

"It's not-" the Commander let out an irritated huff, "It's not like that. Originally I was just repairing it for Mother, so that she may choose someone new to wield her sword, but apparently the sword chose me instead." He looked away from Canach, down to the ground far below them, and he frowned softly. "I could never replace Trahearne, and even if I could I wouldn't want to. I don't want to be 'Trahearne 2.0', I want to be me."

"You want to choose your own future," Canach said, still watching the Commander carefully.

The Commander nodded. "I know it might seem strange," he said with a chuckle, "Most of the others don't seem to understand when I try to explain it. But I…even with everything that's happened to me, I would like to think that it happened because I chose it, not because I was meant to do it."

"Even the bad parts?" 'Like Trahearne's death,' Canach added silently to the end of that sentence, not daring to speak it out loud. Not so soon after the man's death.

"Especially the bad parts," the Commander said, and then he looked up to Canach with a serious look on his face, "Because at least if it happened because of something I chose to do, then it means that it was my mistake. Mistakes I can learn from. But if it was meant to happen, then how can I keep myself from doing it again?"

This must have been what the Pale Tree had meant when she had said that she wanted the others to learn from his example. The Commander was one of the few for now, but Canach still had many years of life left in him. That was plenty of time to use his freedom to its fullest extent, to show both the good and bad that came from being free. The others would learn, in time, but this was a good first step.

Laughing softly, Canach slid his hand into the Commander's palm, lacing their fingers together. This was another choice he had made on his own, and he would continue to make for as long as he could. "Commander," he said, shaking his head slightly, a touch of humor present in his voice, "you have no idea how well I understand."


End file.
